


Christmas in the Room

by sangha



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, ignoring everything that happened after TWS, it's not my fault i was raised catholic, they gotta suffer before they can have their happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21953335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangha/pseuds/sangha
Summary: 5 times Steve celebrated Christmas without Bucky + 1 time Bucky was there
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	Christmas in the Room

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I've been kind of absent this year, but here's a Christmas fic to make up for that. 
> 
> Title from the Sufjan Stevens song of the same name.

**2011**

The first Christmas out of the ice is shaping up to be a lonely affair. Steve doesn’t really know anyone in this century yet. Shield feels distant to him, even though it’s named after his iconic weapon. He’s not sure who to trust; he’s been used by enough people to be wary of any organization claiming to need him. He’d rather make his own way in the world. He’s never liked being dependent on anyone. Bucky knew that better than anyone.

Bucky. Just the thought of him is a sharp ache in his chest, impossible to ignore. There are monuments dedicated to him, which is as it should be. But none of them do him justice. They only talk about Bucky as Captain America’s right hand man. No mention of his kindness, no mention of the way he took care of Steve after Sarah died, no mention of the kind of person he was. 

He calls Morita and Jones, the only remaining members of the Commandos, to wish them a merry Christmas. He’d sent a postcard too, of course, but hearing their voices calms him down a little. Not everything is gone. Some people are still alive to remember the way things truly were, before they were written up in history books. 

“So, what are you doing for Christmas, Cap?” Morita asks him and Steve stays quiet on the other end of the line. 

“Thought so,” Morita says, before Steve can come up with any kind of appropriate response. “You book yourself a flight to San Francisco and stay here, kid.” 

“Jim, I couldn’t, Christmas is a time for family, I can’t just intrude,” Steve protests. 

“And you think you ain’t family? Get your butt over here or I’ll pull some of my remaining strings at Shield to have you escorted here.” 

Steve smiles despite himself. “Thought I was the one giving orders around here.” 

Morita huffs. “Seniority, kid. I got more years on you.” 

\--- 

Half a week later, Steve is standing on Morita’s doorstep. It’s a lovely house, even just from the outside, with a well-kept front yard and a cosy appearance. The door is opened by someone he doesn’t recognize, though the kid clearly knows who Steve is. He is led into a packed living room, where Morita’s entire family has assembled. Steve had no idea Jim had this many grandkids, all of them playing and talking and some of them looking up at Steve in awe, recognition clear as day on their little faces. 

“Steve!” Jim exclaims when he spots Steve. He goes around introducing Steve to everyone; his wife Christine, his four kids, their combined total of ten grand-kids. 

Jim looks good, especially considering his age. He’s well into his nineties by now, but he doesn’t look it. He still has that mischievous twinkle in his eye, even after all these years. 

There’s a place for him at their table, tucked in between a couple of Jim’s kids who treat him like a human being, not like an icon. Nobody brings up the ice or the war and Jim doesn’t call him Cap, not even once. Steve could cry with how content that makes him. 

It isn’t until the kids have all gone home and Christine has gone to bed and it’s just Jim and Steve and they are sitting, drinking quietly, that Jim turns more serious. 

“How’s the 21st century treating you?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “Took a while to get used to all the new technology, but most of it’s not that difficult to figure out.” 

Jim scoffs. “Yeah, you try figuring that shit out when you’re ninety, young man!” he says and Steve laughs. “But really, that’s not what I meant.” He gives Steve a meaningful look, which Steve remembers to mean “don’t bullshit me” and he casts his eyes downward. 

“Honestly? It’s lonely. Everyone treats me like I’m either an artefact in a museum or like I’m irrelevant.” He hadn’t meant to be so brutally honest, but there’s something about being here, with his old war buddy, that cracked him wide open.

Jim nods. “You miss him?” 

Steve looks at him sharply. Morita had never been one for beating around the bush. “Yes,” he says quietly. 

Jim had known about them; of course he did. He’d been the first Howlie to know, the one with the keenest observation skills, though Steve suspects it wasn’t hard to read the love that was so clearly written on his face. Later, Bucky had confided in Dum Dum, who’d been a kind of mentor to him, and eventually they all found it. None of them cared much, though Dum Dum had taken it upon himself to give Steve the shovel talk. He’d made it clear the Howlies were loyal to Bucky first, which was how it should be anyway, as far as Steve was concerned. 

Jim nods again. He’s quiet for a while before he continues. “Listen, kid, take it from an old man. You gotta take some time to adjust, but after that, you gotta put yourself out there. Make some friends. Meet someone new, huh? You know it’s a lot better out there these days for fellas like you and Barnes. No need to hide all the time anymore.”

Steve knows all this, of course. Shield had been very thorough in their crash course in history. The thought of moving on makes Steve’s gut twist, though. Still, he knows Jim has a point. He could do with some friends, at least. “I went to one of those clubs once,” Steve says, by way of deflecting. “Bucky would’ve loved it. He was always trying to get me to go out dancing, even if we had to be dancing with a couple of gals instead of with each other, and I never wanted to.”

Jim smiles at him fondly. “Maybe you should be glad he never got to go. I’m sure everyone in that room would’ve liked to take him home.” 

That might be true, Steve thinks to himself, but he would have come home with me. He always did. 

**2012**

This time around he’s got a team around him. His teammates are living just a few floors away, at the most. He doesn’t really know most of them very well, despite the attack they went through together. Mostly he doesn’t understand them. He doesn’t know how to read Tony, he doesn’t know if he can trust Natasha, Clint’s sense of humor is often hard for him to follow, and Thor is, well, a literal god. Hard to relate to that. He feels a kind of kinship to Bruce, though that’s mostly down to the fact that Bruce, like him, doesn’t seem entirely involved in the goings-ons of the team. 

Still, it must be said that Tony did his best to create a Christmas atmosphere in the common area. The whole floor is decked out in Christmas decorations, Christmas music is blasting from the speakers and there is enough food to make Steve, with his Depression-era upbringing, uncomfortable. 

Even Thor has decided to make a visit, along with Jane. He’s brought some kind of Asgardian drink that only Thor and Steve are allowed to drink. 

“Oh my God, does this mean we’re going to see Captain America _drunk_?” Tony says with barely suppressed glee. 

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’d like to get drunk. He hasn’t been able to for so long and maybe he’ll actually be able to enjoy himself when he’s got a little liquor in him. 

A couple of hours and an undetermined number of shots later the team is playing never have I ever, which Steve had never heard of, but was easy enough to follow, even in his current state. 

Tony only mentions things he thinks will shock Steve, but Steve grew up in the tenements of Brooklyn; he’s seen much more than any of them suspect. He’s not that easy to scandalize. Tony becomes more and more frustrated while Natasha just laughs at him. 

The shots keep coming and the Asgardian liquor is making his head fuzzy. His shoulders sag and he laughs freely at Tony’s annoyance, feeling better than he has in ages.

“Never have I ever,” Tony begins, “had sex with a man.” 

Steve doesn’t even think about it and downs his shot glass. It isn’t until he has put it down that he realizes everyone’s eyes are on him. “Wha?” he slurs.

“Um,” Tony says.

“Wow,” Clint says.

“You realize we’re going to need more info now,” Natasha says, far too coherent. 

“I thought you were a virgin,” Tony says, slurring his words.

Steve laughs so hard he almost cries. “Not since 1936.” His memory flashes back to Bucky’s hands on him and he flushes. 

“Good for you, Captain,” Thor says. “On Asgard it is common for a warrior to take a male lover.” 

Tony’s eyes go wide. “But in 1936...you weren’t a warrior...you were tiny.” He looks around the room gleefully. “You were a twink, oh my fucking God!” 

Steve’s brow furrows and he turns to Natasha on his right. “What does that mean?” 

Natasha looks delighted. She pulls out her phone and Googles it. Steve looks at the definition and flushes. Tony has a point, maybe, but he’s not about to concede that. “I was not!” 

“This is the best night of my life,” Tony declares. 

“Fuck you, Tony.” 

“Yeah, you wish,” Tony replies.

Steve scoffs. “You’re not my type.” 

Tony looks taken aback. “Impossible,” he declares.

“Who _is_ your type?” Clint asks, as he and Thor both sit up straighter, as if hoping Steve might name them.

“Bucky,” he says, before he can think about it.

Dead silence follows.

“ _Oh_ ,” Tony says quietly. 

The atmosphere in the room has changed in the span of a heartbeat. Suddenly there’s a mournful air, and this is the exact opposite of what Steve wanted. 

Bucky is like an open nerve inside him, one he can’t help poking from time to time, just to make sure he feels something. Even through the haze of the alcohol he feels the pain, much more acutely than he feels anything else. 

“I think I’ll head up,” Steve says and nobody tries to stop him. 

Back on his own floor he raises a glass to the picture of Bucky on his nightstand. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

**2013**

Peggy was doing fine until she wasn’t. Steve has known for a while that she wasn’t technically well, but she seemed lucid and recognized him and knew where and when she was most of the time, and well, wasn’t that the most important thing? But then Daniel died and it seems a piece of her went with him. In any case, she couldn’t stay all alone in that house and her kids live across the country and lead busy lives and they couldn’t take her in. 

So here she is, on the fourth floor of the hospital, in a secured wing she can’t just leave. It breaks Steve’s heart to see her like this. She was the sharpest person he’s ever known. 

She still recognizes him, most days, but she doesn’t remember him coming out of the ice most of the time. She cries when she sees him and it’s fragile and broken, as though her grief over him is still fresh and not decades old. 

He visits her on Christmas Eve. He knows her family will visit tomorrow, but he feels she should have a familiar face around on Christmas Eve, too. It doesn’t feel right to just leave her alone. 

He enters the room and she cries, same as usual, though Steve will never get used to it. She becomes more lucid as the evening progresses. 

“How are you doing, Steve?” she asks, and he knows she means it in the real sense, not just in the polite sense.

“I...I don’t know,” he finally says.

“We had a good thing, didn’t we?” she asks and her eyes go soft and fond, a look that was so hard to find on the Peggy of their youth.

He takes her hand. “We did. Don’t know if I’ll find it again.” 

She squeezes his hand. “So dramatic. I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did,” he agrees. But then, Steve’s already had his two great loves and lost them both. He looks at their intertwined hands and then at her, and she looks at him so sharply - for a second he forgets her mind is going. 

“You’re thinking of him,” she says, and it’s not a question. Steve doesn’t bother answering. 

She hadn’t known in the war, but Steve had told her after he came out of the ice. It seemed silly to keep it from her, after all these years. And she was one of the few people still alive who knew Bucky, _really_ knew him, and he needed her to know the full extent of him, all the ways in which Steve had known him. 

She hadn’t been surprised when he told her, nor had she been offended that he and Bucky had never broken it off, though Bucky had talked about Steve and Peggy marrying and having kids, quietly removing himself from the picture. 

“He’d want you to be happy,” Peggy says. “No good chasing after ghosts, Steve.”

How to explain to her that to Steve, he didn’t feel like a ghost? He felt alive, just out of reach, as if Steve was reaching for Bucky’s hand on that train in perpetuity. As if, if only he could reach a little further, Bucky would be safe within his hold. 

An orderly enters the room, saying there’s snacks and music in the common room, and would they like to join?

Steve looks at Peggy. “I do still owe you that dance, you know.”

**2014**

Natasha has dragged Steve to Sam’s apartment and pulls Asgardian liquor from her bag. Thor hasn’t been to Earth in quite some time, so she must have been planning this for a while. Figures. It is Natasha, after all. 

“Sit,” she orders him. “Drink.”

Sam gives him a look that says, better do as she says. Steve sighs and sits down. 

“My mom brought me cookies,” Sam says and offers Steve one. Sam’s mom likes to bake and she likes to spoil Sam even more. Steve isn’t going to complain; her baking is fantastic. It’s the kind of baking that reminds Steve of home, even if Sarah rarely ever baked like this. 

Steve is in the middle of eating his cookie when he realizes that it’s Christmas day and Sam isn’t visiting his mom. “Shouldn’t you be visiting her?”

Sam shrugs. “Swung by yesterday afternoon. Besides, you’re family, too.” 

Steve’s heart swells a little. He’s not sure what he did to deserve a friend like Sam, but he’s glad he’s got him. Sam is a solid presence in his life, the kind of person who calms you down just by being themselves. 

Natasha sits down opposite Steve, next to Sam. “So,” she says. “Let’s get drunk.” 

It doesn’t take very long for the liquor to have an effect on Steve, which is a relief. Natasha takes a lot longer to get drunk; in fact, Steve can’t recall a single instant when he actually saw her fully drunk. 

“Have you ever been drunk?” he asks her.

“Sure,” she says. “It’s just that most of the time, everyone else has already passed out by the time I’m wasted.”

“I don’t understand how such a tiny body can hold so much alcohol,” Sam says, frowning like he’s solving a complicated math problem in his head. 

“Russians,” Steve says. 

Natasha laughs. “You guys know I’ll never share my secret.” 

They talk about nothing much in particular, and it’s nice. Natasha is becoming slightly less guarded and Steve wonders for the millionth time what she’s really like underneath all those layers of armor. 

“Rogers, you ever try Grindr?” Natasha asks. Sam has slumped in his seat and is leaning his head on Natasha’s shoulder. Steve isn’t in much better shape.

“‘Scuse me?” 

“You know, a dating app,” she says.

“Hook-up app,” Sam corrects, slurring his words so much Steve can barely make them out.

“For men,” Natasha adds.

Oh. “No,” he says.

“You should try it,” she says. 

He shakes his head. “You know I can’t.”

“Because of Bucky?” she asks, and the softness in her that had broken through earlier tonight disappears again, just like that.

Sam sits up, blinking blearily, but trying to follow the conversation. 

“Yes,” Steve says and it comes out like a challenge. He knows Natasha is sceptical about Bucky, about his ability to change. But he knows Bucky was the one who pulled him out of the water. He has faith in Bucky. He must. 

“It’s not a crime to meet other people, you know,” Natasha says.

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve argues. He would have married Bucky, given the chance. 

“You really love him, huh?” Natasha asks.

Steve nods. “It’s all I’ve ever known. I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember.” He feels tears sting behind his eyelids. 

“You can’t make him cry on Christmas Day, Natasha, what the fuck,” Sam hisses, shoving Natasha with very little force.

“Buck always said I was a weepy drunk,” Steve says.

Natasha smiles and some of the warmth has returned to her eyes. 

“Nobody remembers what he’s like,” Steve says. “He’s kind - in a real way, not in that polite bullshit way. He would help anyone in the neighborhood and they didn’t even need to ask him. He just showed up for them. One time, he cussed up a storm with a landlord who wanted to kick me out. I still got kicked out, but Buck was so fired up, and it was something to know that I could bring that out in him. He’s calm, doesn’t rush into things, but that time he did. He stood up for every kid in school, and later in the tenements. He’s always been better than me.

“He can come back. I know it,” Steve says, looking directly at Natasha. 

“This is the greatest love story of our lifetime,” Sam says, obviously still drunk out of his mind but trying very hard to hold it together. It’s the thing that shakes Steve out of his grief and makes him laugh. 

“Thanks, buddy,” he says. 

If only he could be assured of a happy ending.

**2015**

Steve has never been this furious in his life, and he’s been plenty angry plenty of times. 

“I haven’t talked to him in seventy years and you’re going to keep him from me?” he says through his teeth. 

Ross looks at him, unimpressed and even a little bored. “Your feelings hardly matter, Captain. He’s a national security threat.” 

“He turned himself in!” Steve retorts, trying very hard not to outright yell, but his voice is rising. 

Ross shrugs. “It could be a trick. He’s unstable, and he has assassinated countless people, including a President. You should be glad we haven’t put him down like a dog,” Ross says in the same infuriatingly calm tone. He doesn’t add the word “yet” on the end of that sentence, but Steve hears it anyway.

He steps closer to Ross. “If you lay so much as one finger on him, I will burn this country to the ground.” 

Ross raises a single eyebrow. “I don’t think it’s wise to be making threats, Captain. We’ve got plenty of unoccupied cells.” 

Natasha walks in at that moment. Good thing, too, because Steve was about to do something _really_ dumb. “Gentlemen,” she says, her voice calm but Steve can see the layers underneath now, and he knows she’s worried. “Steve, would you step outside for a minute?” 

Steve walks off, pacing up and down the hallway. They can’t keep him from Bucky. The universe has been trying its damnedest to tear them apart and Ross isn’t going to be the one to succeed. He’s not sure how long he’s been pacing when Natasha approaches him.

“God, what a dick,” she says.

“I lost my temper,” Steve says. “He talked about putting Bucky down...it was like I was seeing red.” 

“Well, you didn’t punch him. I call that progress,” Natasha says, and she’s smiling that little half-smile of hers now. “I convinced him you can go and see him, it being Christmas and all. But he wanted me to emphasize this is highly exceptional. Also, there will be guards present and a glass wall between you. It’s the best I could do.” 

Steve pulls her into a hug. “Thank you, Nat.” 

\--- 

Steve sees Bucky before Bucky sees him. He looks tired, skinnier than he did on the helicarrier. If they haven’t been feeding him well, he’s going to lose his shit. He’s sitting in a glass cage, for lack of a better word, and Steve hates it. They’re treating him like a wild animal. His hair is longer, shabbier than it was last year. He’s sitting in a chair, unmoving, so unlike the Bucky Steve knew, who was always fidgeting or moving his foot or _something_. Armed guards surround the cage. Steve feels another surge of anger. 

He approaches Bucky, who’s got a vacant look in his eyes, right up until the moment he spots Steve. Suddenly, they come alive with that spark Steve hasn’t seen in seventy years. He bites back tears. _You can’t start crying before you’ve even talked to him_ , Steve tells himself.

It’s no good. Bucky scoots forward on the chair, places his hand against the glass and says, “Steve” and there’s no holding back the tears now. 

He places his own hand against the cold glass and he hates that he can’t touch Bucky right now. “Buck,” he says, sounding choked. “I missed you so much.” 

“I’m here,” Bucky says, but it’s not enough. 

“How are they treating you?” 

Bucky’s eyes go soft. “Fine, considering. They’re feeding me well enough. One of the guards brings me books. Lots of psych evals.” His jaw ticks. “You don’t gotta worry about me, Rogers.” 

Steve gives him an incredulous look. “Fuck that,” he says. “I’m getting you out of here.” 

Bucky drops his hand. “Not likely, after everything I did.”

“After everything they made you do,” Steve corrects. “You didn’t have a choice.” 

Bucky’s steel-blue eyes go cold. “Someone has to pay for it. I’m the one who pulled the trigger.” 

Steve shakes his head. “I swear to you, I will find those Hydra bastards and bring them all down. You’ve paid your price.” Tears well up in his eyes again. “I just want you home, with me.” 

Bucky smiles, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners, something Steve has never seen before. “You big sap.” 

“I’ve been so lonely without you,” Steve admits quietly, hoping the guards won’t overhear. 

“You can’t put your life on hold for me,” Bucky argues.

“Watch me,” Steve says as his jaw sets. 

Bucky sighs and holds up his hands. “I know better than to get in an argument with you.” He sits down on the floor of the glass box, cross-legged, looking nothing like an international threat. “Remember that first Christmas we spent living together?” Bucky asks.

“I got in a fight on Christmas Eve,” Steve says. “You were grumbling the whole time you were cleaning my wounds.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because you’re an idiot,” Bucky says, and he’s grinning now, and god but Steve wants to touch him. “I knew right then, you were it for me,” Bucky says, his voice raspy all of a sudden.

Steve leans forward, his forehead pressed against the glass. “I wish I could touch you,” he says.

“God knows your head is thick enough to break that glass,” Bucky says and Steve can’t help but laugh. 

“Fuck you, Barnes.”

“You wish.” 

Steve snorts. “I was having a moment here, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, you were getting all sad and mopey and we’re not doing that, not today.” He looks at Steve, really looks at him, the way nobody has looked at him since 1945. “Hey,” he says, “we’re gonna be fine. We got this far, didn’t we?” 

**2016**

Their brownstone is sparsely decorated, unlike the other houses on their block. But Steve had insisted: he didn’t want to go all out. They had the means and the opportunity, but they had never done so before, so why would start now? Steve wanted this Christmas to be theirs, and theirs alone. 

There was a Christmas tree in the living room; Bucky had insisted on that. “I’m not going to be known as the Grinch around here,” he’d grumbled. “No gifts, fine, but I’m drawing the line at the tree, Rogers.”

So there’s a tree, which Bucky had decorated, but that was it. 

After everything, Steve doesn’t feel like complying with the usual trappings of Christmas. Tony is throwing a party, but Steve doesn’t feel like going. He just wants to be with Bucky, alone, just the two of them. 

The hassle of traveling or shopping for Christmas is too much, especially this year. 

He has become selfish about Bucky. He doesn’t want to share him with the world anymore; he doesn’t want the world to see what they have. Not because he’s ashamed or because he’s afraid, but because he wants to protect what he has.

The trial Bucky had been subjected to had been a farce at best. It had been clear the government had wanted to put Bucky on trial to make an example out of him. They hadn’t counted on the public throwing their support behind Bucky, especially once more details started to emerge. Natasha’s data-dump during the helicarrier fiasco also ended up working in Bucky’s favor. There were detailed accounts of the things Bucky had been subjected to under Hydra. 

Reading those had made Steve sick to his stomach. Bucky had stared at his feet whenever his treatment at Hydra’s hands came up in court. But they made it through. 

Steve used to be idealistic: he wanted to defend the world from bullies and that seemed like a simple enough task. After all of this, he’s become much more cynical. Even though the public supported Bucky - and he’s endlessly grateful for that - he finds it hard to believe in the goodness of the world anymore. Not after everything Bucky’s had to go through. So yes, he's become selfish about Bucky, fueled by the desire to protect him from the world that's been so cruel to him. 

He has Bucky to come home to and Bucky can come home to him, and that’s enough for both of them. It’s more than they’ve ever had.

They sleep in today, lazy when they do finally wake up, kissing whenever they feel like it, no rush or need to do anything or go anywhere. Steve likes to intertwine his hand with Bucky’s; likes to see the matching rings on their right hands. Bucky didn’t want to wear the ring on his left, and so Steve hadn’t either. 

It’s still new to him, the feel of the ring around his finger, catching the sun’s reflection off Bucky’s matching band. 

Steve hadn’t wasted any time making Bucky an honest man. As soon as he’d been acquitted Steve had gone out to buy the ring. Talking to the jeweler had been surreal to him; the fact that he could actually do this, the miracle it had taken to get both of them here, at this moment in time, to make this a possibility. It still overwhelms Steve when he thinks about it. 

The ceremony had been a quiet affair. As much as Tony had tried to convince Steve to throw a huge party and have a lavish ceremony, all Steve had really wanted was to declare his love of James Buchanan Barnes before God and man, once and for all. Without shame, without fear. 

Bucky had been so beautiful that day. Of course, to Steve he’s always beautiful, even when he’s worn out or sick, but that day his beauty had been exceptional. He looked content in a way Steve hadn’t seen him since before the war, his eyes finally at rest. That familiar calm, laced with warmth, had finally returned. Not the unnatural calm of the assassin Hydra made him, but the calm of a man who is at peace with himself. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Bucky says. Steve’s head is pillowed on Bucky’s chest, just like they used to do. 

“Hmm, just thinking about you. Us.” 

“Anything you wanna share?” Bucky asks.

Steve smiles up at him. “Nothing you don’t already know.” He leans up for a kiss, allowing it to deepen, morning breath be damned. Bucky kisses exactly like he used to, with a single-minded focus to take Steve apart, and even after all these years, it still makes Steve’s toes curl. 

Bucky eventually stumbles out of bed to make them both breakfast, which they eat in bed, and afterwards, they go to sleep again, Bucky’s back pressed to Steve’s front. It almost feels like a regular Sunday, except even quieter than usual. 

They watch a couple of movies they’ve been meaning to watch together. Bucky’s legs are in Steve’s lap, which is Bucky’s way of asking for a foot rub, which leads to Steve massaging Bucky’s legs, which leads to some fooling around on the couch like they did back in their nothing apartment in 1937. It’s absolutely perfect.

Bucky makes dinner - Steve has always been a terrible cook and Bucky flat out refuses to eat anything of Steve’s making. He barely trusts Steve to make ramen noodles. It’s nothing fancy; after all, they had agreed to not do anything special this Christmas. A Billie Holiday vinyl plays in the background as they eat and play footsie under the table. 

They leave the dishes in the sink; they’ll take care of that tomorrow. Bucky pulls Steve up out of his chair and pulls him close, swaying to the music.

Steve’s never been a good dancer, despite Bucky’s many attempts at teaching him. It doesn’t matter. 

All he has to do is follow Bucky’s lead and he’ll be alright. 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! As always, kudos and comments sustain me.


End file.
